


The Further Adventures of Tony Stark

by MassiveSpaceWren, tisfan



Category: Iron Man (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Comic Book Science, Iron Man Noir - Freeform, M/M, Minor Violence, Pulp Science Fiction, Tony Stark Has A Heart, repulsor tech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 00:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/pseuds/MassiveSpaceWren, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: After his adventures with Madam Masque, Tony Stark swore off any more adventures, instead trying to make life better for the people in his own country...When James Barnes offers a possible way to both save his father's legacy, and Tony's life, Tony heads out on a life of adventure once again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art by massivespacewren  
> Story and header by tisfan

__

__

_I knew, sitting down to pen this letter, that you will be cross with me, old friend. Not but two days have passed since I promised I was going to stay home and work for the betterment of our country, rather than chasing false cures and dangerous promises across Europe._

_I can see you now, resting your head on your hand. It is a common pose for those who deal with me on a regular basis and I can only express my apologies so many times before you realize that I probably will never correct this behavior._

_I have, however, had news of one more invention of my father’s that rests squarely in the hands of those remainders of Hydra, and I would be remiss in my duty to allow it to endanger us or our allies, any longer._

_Yes, I left you and our chronicler behind; Ms. Potts deserves a vacation and I will do my best to write frequently -- I can hear you laughing already in my imagination -- so that some efforts can be squeezed from my letters. The Adventures of Tony Stark are not over yet!_

_As for you, old friend, I could not face the look of disappointment when I told you what I have heard and what I will risk… you can lecture me later._

_Your friend  
T.S._

***

The problem with being an insomniac when in the hospital was that there was nowhere to go, no one to talk to, and nothing to do. Tony was trapped in his bed, held down by broken bones and an exhausted heart, and a soul that was weary.

Everything he’d been told to believe was a lie.

Everything he knew was a nightmare. His father’s intellect and devices used to perpetuate monstrosities? His own searches for a means to preserve his life, wasted. Guilt poked him, fear prodded him. Bravery was overrated, but absolution…

There was a concept he could get behind.

Fury had said he’d send someone to discuss his initiative, and then Tony hadn’t heard anything else for days. Was that a lie, too?

No wonder he couldn’t sleep.

Which was why Tony was awake when the cyborg-man slipped into his room and pressed his back against the door, peering tentatively around the jam to see a few nurses and an orderly trot by. The man panted for breath, almost silent except for the creak and whirr of his artificial arm, throwing back reflections.

“This is unexpected,” Tony said, and he groped for his pistol under his pillow. Tony didn’t want to shoot anyone, but there were times when he really needed to make allowances for his own protection. Giving up on finding a cure for the repulsor tech that kept his heart going meant that he was, in fact, counting down his days, and he didn’t need some stranger, no matter how intriguing, to cut them even shorter.

“Stark?”

“You’ve got the right room, at least,” Tony said, since there wasn’t any point in denying it. He looked too much like a Stark; his picture was on dime novels and penny dreadfuls all around the country.

Maybe he should shave.

Hah. Not likely. Although he might consider growing out a beard.

“Thank Christ,” the man said. “You’re a hard one to find.”

“But good, when you find me,” Tony replied. “You’re going about this oddly if you’re planning to kill me, so why don’t you tell me why you snuck in? Autographs are available in the gift shop.”

The man made a scoffing sound in his teeth. “Heard you didn’t take much seriously, but I’m hoping I can change your mind.”

“About taking things seriously?”

“About quitting the adventuring life,” the man said. He didn’t walk, that would have been mild compared to the actuality. He _strutted_. Swaggered. He moved like he had somewhere to be, and he was taking the side trip through sexy solely for the viewer’s benefit. Tony didn’t mind. He appreciated thick thighs and hips that rang like a bell.

“It seems a waste of my staggering intellect and vast resources to waste them, gallivanting around the globe for the benefit of readers who wish to escape from their life.” That’s what he’d told Rhodey and he meant to keep his word.

The man chuckled, dark and wicked. “Nice speech, did you practice it in front of a mirror? Look, my name’s James Barnes, and I have a proposal for you.”

“Well, you’re very attractive, Mr. Barnes, but I don’t think I’m ready to get married just yet,” Tony said.

Barnes gave him a startled smile, and the way it lit up his face made Tony’s gut _do things._ “I’ll be sure t’ ask again later, just to see if the answer’s still no,” Barnes said. He chewed on his lower lip and then added, “I’m asking you to come with me, finish some of your father’s work, and quite possibly save a multitude of lives, including your own.”

“Well, you definitely have intrigued me,” Tony said. “Go on.”

“Do you know anything about Abraham Erskine’s work? He was a Hydra scientist, but escaped to the west about ten years ago,” Barnes said. When Tony shook his head, Barnes went on, “he was working for Hydra to make the perfect man, the ubermensch. He failed, but the formula that he created had some potential for incredible regenerative properties. Healing illnesses, recovering from gunshot wounds.” He paused, then added, “losing an arm and having it replaced with a mechanical prosthetic.”

“You’re with Hydra?”

“Involuntarily,” Barnes said. “After Erskine’s formula produced monsters rather than perfect men, they took to kidnapping people off the streets. They spread rumors of cures and let us come to them. I was young, and stupid, and desperate.”

Tony tilted his head at the arm and raised an eyebrow. “Was it worth it?”

“No, not for me,” Barnes said. “They did this to me. I was seekin’ a cure for my friend. He’s… Steve’s really sick. He’s got a bum ticker, among other problems. Eugenics committee declares him unfit to live. It’s… he’s all I got left in the world, and I’m all he’s got. They kept us apart for years, and he’s got months left to live, if that. When Hydra broke down recently, I took my opportunity to run, but it’s almost too late.”

“And what do you want me to do about this sad, sad tale?” Tony was already busy taking mental notes. It would make a great story, even if nothing came of it.

“Erskine’s formula works,” Barnes told him. “As you can see. They proved it, but it required more than just the serum. Howard Stark made a machine, a vita-ray chamber. He was working with Hydra, I’ve seen him.”

“Well, he’s not anymore,” Tony said, and he didn’t bother to explain. His father’s erasure still haunted him.

“I know,” Barnes said. “But I need you -- I don’t have the wit to understand the machine, you’re the only one who does. Your father made it. I either need to capture and move it, or get the schematics, or I need to get you to it, so you can study and remake it. I think taking you to the machine will be easiest. Also, gives you motivation; I have two doses of Erskine’s formula. You can use it on yourself, and then, we can use it on Steve. Payment for services rendered, and with the vita ray machine and samples of our blood, maybe you can remake it. That would be a real benefit. Imagine, being able to get a simple shot and being cured of everything that ails you. That would be a wonder, wouldn’t it, Mr. Stark? Your name would be highest ever in history. Savior of all mankind.”

“Yeah, hubris is a bad look, Mr. Barnes,” Tony said. “But you’re right that I don’t have much time left. And it could help so many people. Not to mention, leaving this in Hydra hands, who knows what they’ll do with it?”

“You’ll come with me?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, you got a plan, or are we winging it?”

 “I was kinda hoping you’d let me borrow one of your dirigibles,” Barnes said. “Don’t really think swimmin’ to Switzerland is a good plan.”


	2. Chapter 2

**_Patient Particulars, M. Stark Hospital_ **

_Rogers, Steven Grant, 14047 Brooklyn Street, NY_

**_Medical Ailments_ ** _: Asthma, Household contact with tuberculosis, Scarlet fever, Rheumatic fever, Chronic or frequent colds, sinusitis, Palpitation or pounding in heart, high or low blood pressure, heart trouble, Nervous trouble of any sort, Parent/sibling with diabetes, cancer, stroke, or heart disease, Easy fatigability, Anemia, Colour-blindness, Heart Murmur, Scoliosis, Fallen Arches, Partial Deafness_

***

Tony had to see for himself, this friend.

As chance would have it, or perhaps not, Rogers was in the same hospital, although he was in the infectious disease ward. Probably not the safest place for him. Even if he was a carrier for TB, and had to limit his exposure to other patients, he was a walking disease welcome mat, leaving the door open for just about anything.

“We’ll have him moved to a single occupancy immediately,” Tony told the nurse who accompanied them, and then waved a hand to stifle Barnes’ protests. “I’ll cover the expense personally. I own the hospital, the least they can do is cater to my insanity. I won’t be using a room any longer.”

The man was pale, barely taller than a boy, and skinny as a rail, with dull blonde hair that flopped in his face.

“Buck,” Rogers said, opening his eyes. Based on his medical reports, Tony wasn’t sure how Rogers knew Barnes was even in the room; he couldn’t possibly see clearly from across the room, he was partially deaf, so he wouldn’t have heard him, he had a constant stuffed head, so a preternatural sense of smell was out of the question. “Hey, pal.”

Maybe it was one of those sixth sense things; Tony was rather lacking in them. If he was preoccupied, he wouldn’t have noticed a dinosaur.  

“Punk,” Barnes said, and he crossed the room to squeeze Roger’s knee under the blankets, a bony thing, even swaddled in thick cloth. “I’m headin’ out, wanted t’ let you know I ain’t givin’ up on you. Gonna see if I can find you some help.”

“Buck, I can get by--”

“Steve, you don’t have to,” Barnes told him. “I’m gonna do this, with or without your blessin’, just try an’ stop me. But I’d rather have it.”

“Don’t waste your life on me,” Rogers said. “You just got home, you’re--”

“You are all I have left, punk,” Barnes told him. “You jus’ stay here, get better. I got arrangements for a better room, you’re gonna be fine. Jus’ hold on, ‘til I get back, okay?”

“Okay,” Rogers said, deflating.

Poor kid, Tony thought. He glanced back at the medical file that he’d liberated. Rogers had lost the genetic lottery, as well as every other piece of luck in history. His bad luck had bad luck.

“I’ll write, promise,” Barnes said. He took up Roger’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid.”

“How can I,” Rogers wondered, “when you’re taking all the stupid with you?”

Barnes leaned down and kissed Rogers’ forehead.

“Let’s get going,” Tony said, pulling out his pocketwatch and pretending to look at it. It was a few hours before dawn and if he hoped to make it out of the country before Rhodey was breathing down his neck and putting him back to bed, they needed to leave soon.

At least he was pretty sure there was a charger for the repulsor on his favorite dirigible, so Jarvis would also not have the opportunity to stop him. He handed a stack of letters to the attending nurse. “Please have those in the mail, but… give it a day or so, so I have a head start, yes, please?”

***

Getting into and out of the Stark family mansion without Jarvis catching them was more exciting than it could have been. For an old man, Jarvis barely let down his guard. The only thing that saved them, Tony thought, was that Jarvis was not expecting anyone. He believed Tony to still be safely ensconced in the hospital, and in no way a fool.

Tony could have told Jarvis that foolishness was just one of Tony’s many fine qualities, and that he should never believe that Tony would be sensible.

Of course, he wasn’t going to say that, having snuck into his own damn home to recover his Iron Man suit, the charger for the repulsor, and the crank key for one of Tony’s best dirigibles. A swift-moving and slender machine, the Jocasta was the perfect airship for a minimal crew (Tony and Barnes) and it didn’t stand out particularly against the sky, which made it ideal for a stealth mission.

One of these days, Tony was going to work on a cloaking mechanism, which would, perhaps, exude steam around the gondola, to hide them among the clouds, or perhaps some sort of smoke-and-mirrors trick to conceal the airships entirely. He was still sketching these out once they got the Jocasta into the air.

Barnes was not at ease for flying on autopilot; he stood near the helm no matter that Tony had tracked their flight path, and kept a routine check on their airspace.

Perhaps it was all for the best, Tony decided. He was often easily distracted and while flying in an empty sky was pretty basic, he might lose track of where they were and fly right into a mountain.

“The way you’re biting your nails,” Tony said, leaning back in his chair, pushing the sketches away and stretching, “I would think you don’t trust the integrity of my airship.”

“The ship seems sound enough,” Barnes said. “Ain’t so sure about your flight plan. But we’ll make do.”

“It’s a three day flight over the Atlantic,” Tony pointed out. “We just go until we hit land again. It’s not that hard. We’ll reorient once we cross the sea.”

“A steamer would have been safer.”

“Safety is not usually a word that people associate with me,” Tony pointed out. “Besides, I have what you might call a remarkable mug. There’s no way we could be incognito on a chartered ship.”

“Is that why you’ve got a scruff going, or did you just forget to shave, the same way you forget to eat, and don’t sleep until you’re falling down?”

Tony stroked at his beard, as if to make sure it hadn’t gotten offended and run off. “You’re as much of a nag as Jarvis, my dad's friend from the war,” Tony said.

“Gettin’ Howard Stark’s vitaray chamber back won’t do me a lick of good if you ain’t ‘round to fix it,” Barnes told him. “Your charming company aside, I got use for you.”

“Oh, really?” Tony managed a chuckle, even though his throat went dry at the thoughts of use Barnes might put him to. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed the man staring at him from time to time. Tony had thought it was, perhaps, his fame. People tended to be a little star-struck when they first met him. It wore off as they realized that his personality was lacking in general little civilities and that he was absent-minded, sarcastic, and arrogant.

“Yeah,” Barnes said, giving Tony a quick wink. “I understand you’re a damn good shot.”

Tony laughed, both outward at Barnes’ joke, and inwardly at himself.

Barnes was not, he decided, interested in fooling around.

Unless he was.

Tony twitched his lips, trying to decide.

“I got a good handle on my pistol,” Tony declared. “I’m better with my gun.” Let Barnes make of that what he would.

“Heard that rumor, too,” Barnes said. He checked their position based on the floating directional marker -- there were hundreds of them scattered around the Atlantic. “Our bearing’s off by three percent, correcting.”

“Three percent?” Tony scoffed. “I could drive a luxury liner through three percent.”

“Well, that’s you. The rest of us like to not get lost and end up in Africa when we mean to be in Austria.”

“Africa’s a really, really big place,” Tony said. “I think I’d notice before we got too turned about.”

“Well, I ain’t entirely sure about that. Watched you walk right into the wall th’ other day. You live in your head, an’ not down here on the planet with the rest of us,” Barnes said.

“You caught me,” Tony said, spreading his hands in surrender.

“Not yet,” Barnes said, “but you keep teasin’ and I just might.”


	3. Chapter 3

_For three nerve-wracking years, Natasha Romanov spied on the Allies for the Nazis and their compatriots or so the Nazis believed. By trading encoded documents for envelopes of cash, she pretended to sell out United States military secrets across noisy restaurant tables and in quiet parking lots. Originally raised as a Soviet deep mole, she broke free from their conditioning as soon as she set foot on American soil. Going immediately to the SSR, she enrolled in double-agent training and assisted in rooting out Nazi and Hydra spies._

_\-- Agent Philip J. Coulson, dossier for Natasha Romanov_

“Tony Stark,” the girl laying on his bed said as Tony walked into the not-particularly first class hotel where they’d decided to stay. He’d checked in under a false name, one of several that he’d had made up, but that didn’t seem to matter. His face was pretty well known so it wasn’t entirely unlikely that people recognized him, no matter what name he was traveling under.

“I’d deny it, but there’s probably no point,” Tony said. “I should point out that I didn’t ask for a companion for this evening, and while I’m sure you’re very skilled, I’m not in the mood.” She was good, Tony had to admit. Her eyes barely sparked at the very obvious mistake -- if she was a whore, Tony was a ballroom dancer -- before she gave him a creampot smile. Spy, then, he decided, rather than an assassin.

“Well, if you don’t want to do any of the work, I’m sure I can aid you in your pleasure,” she said, shifting on the bed a little.

“Can we just skip it, sweetheart?” Tony produced a gun from his belt and pointed it at her. He was pretty sure she could take it away from him if she wanted to; she had that look about her, all easy grace and lethal poise. She probably also didn’t want him dead, or he would be choking on his own blood right now. “I’m having trouble getting a read on you, which tells me you’re very good at this. So, let’s pretend you gave me the sob story, and I can pretend I believe you, and you just tell me what you want.”

There were footsteps in the hall, low and deliberate, but they passed by.

“If you insist, Mr. Stark,” she said. “You can call me Natasha.”

“I wasn’t planning on calling you anything, but okay,” Tony said. He really should have set up some sort of code phrase or something with Barnes. “What is it, Natasha?”

“I wanted to warn you that you are walking into a trap,” Natasha said. “Mr. Barnes is not what he seems, and you would do well to separate from him immediately. I can protect you.”

“Very noble,” Tony said agreeably. “I wonder what Mr. Barnes have to say about this. Shall we ask him?” Barnes had only been just behind him, and the man had preternaturally keen senses. If Tony was right, and very lucky, Barnes would take that as a cue to-- and there he was. Tony inwardly congratulated himself.

Barnes opened the door with a silent hand and slid inside, weapon at the ready. Natasha, whoever she was, could probably take Tony; there was no way she was going to be able to take both of them, especially without alerting the other inn’s patrons. Of course, it was entirely possible that this entire thing was a set up and the other customers were already leaving in droves. Who knew? Tony didn’t.

“ _Solnishko_?” Barnes blinked, and then his gun came up and steadied. He spoke to her in rapid Russian, face registering shock, surprise, distrust, and ended on steely determination.

“Will you kill me today, James? Then I was right to come and warn him,” she said. Her full lips turned into a ruby pout, and the coiled sensuality of the woman intensified.

“Ah, you two have met before,” Tony commented. “How delightful. Shall I trade rooms with you for the evening, Barnes, and let you get reacquainted.”

“No. She’s leaving.”

“I’m not,” Natasha said. “I was hoping it wasn’t true, but you’re taking him right into a trap. We only just shed off one Zemo, we don’t need another. And not this particular one, who would take Hydra far enough to finally win the war.”

Tony shuddered. Zemo wasn’t a name at all, but a code phrase for a drug-and-brainwashing technique that had erased his father’s core personality and left him as a sort of ambulatory computer for Hydra’s forces.

“Well, yes,” Barnes said.

_What?_

“What?”

“To be fair, she’s not wrong,” Barnes said. “It is a trap. But everything I told you is also true; about the machine and its capabilities. And the best way to turn a trap around is to spring it from inside.”

“You can’t possibly be serious,” Tony protested.

“You can’t possibly win,” Natasha declared. “Even if I believed you, which, quite honestly, I don’t.”

“I’m not the one who double-crosses my double-cross, or is that triple crossing, Natasha? Is it something in your blood, or do you just not care any more who you’re working for?”

“Do you two want to stop trading pointed insults and sly insinuations and just tell me what’s going on?” Tony did not have enough patience for this secret spy bullshit, honestly.

“She’s with the Russians, Tony,” Barnes said. “You can’t trust her.”

“I’ve been working undercover for the Strategic Scientific Reserve for the last three years, and neither Schmidt nor the Nazis know anything about it,” Natasha protested. “I’ve been selling them bad information and helping to ferret out all the traitors and agents that they’ve planted in the United States and Britain.”

“There’s a convenient story, but it doesn’t explain why I saw you in the observation theater for my last wipe,” Barnes said, flat, and angry.

“You remember that?” Natasha sounded agonized. “You’re not supposed to remember that.”

“I remember all of them,” Barnes said. “Through luck, mostly. When Hydra had its little dust up recently -- losing Strucker was a blow -- I managed to evade a training session. I got my memories back, I’ve been able to fool them into thinking I still have my orders. They think I’m still their toy.”

“Or they’ve made you think that you have your own mind back, to gain Stark’s sympathy and bring them the one man who might be able to make heads or tails of Howard’s work,” Natasha pointed out. “If you even are your own man again, you can’t risk going back into Hydra territory. You won’t be free; they’ll take you as soon as they can.”

“They won’t,” Barnes growled. “And Stark’s going to help me. The machine is there, the vita-ray machine. Stark can use it, save his own life. And if there were side benefits to me, once we got there, that’s between me and god, isn’t it?”

“Unless you’re casting me in the role for the God of the Jews than I think, yes, actually, I should know about this. What are we discussing, here?” Tony hated being left out of the conversation.

“He’s got code-words implanted,” Natasha said. “He has no way of knowing if those words will trigger him and turn him right back into the ruthless and lethal assassin--”

“--says a Red Room trainee,” Barnes snorted. “You’re hardly a reassuring figure yourself.”

“--who will betray you without a second thought. You can’t go to Schmidt’s stronghold and possibly hope to survive, Mr. Stark.”

“I’ve been told I can’t go a lot of places and I’m still breathing,” Tony pointed out. “And it seems to me that you might both be right, odd as it sounds. I’m for Hydra having control over no one. It’s already affected every part of my life and if I had to have a vendetta against Hydra, this is as good a way to get revenge for it as any. They destroyed my father, desecrated his work. I don’t see why they should be able to keep the two of you.”

“I’m not kept,” Natasha said.

“Well, I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?” Tony said. “I’ve been spied upon and lied to and betrayed before. At least I haven’t kissed you. And I trust Barnes to keep an eye on you for me.”

“This is a mistake,” Natasha said.

“I hesitate t’ agree with her, but--”

“Certainty of death. Small chance of success. What are we waiting for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I know that Lord of the Rings was written in 1937 - 1949 and wasn’t published until after that and is therefore probably an anachronism with this particular story. That said, I’m using the line ANYWAY


	4. Chapter 4

_Some local history for our adventures._

_Alexandru cel Bun granted a fief to boyar -- Michael is the local equivalent of the name, and I see no need to try to figure out where all the little accent marks go. Surely we have people who can do that for us? You can complain later, it is cold and my hands ache and I am merely waiting for it to be full dark before we assault the castle. -- and member of the Prince’s Council, an estate located near the Siret River plains. In 1591, the nobleman's descendants sold the estate to treasurer Simon Stroici who built a mansion on the property and fortified the village in 1598. The ruins of the first mansion could still be seen as late as the beginning of the twentieth century._

To Lupul Prăjăscu and my niece, Saftei, and my son, Gligorie, with ponds and with land and with all of the income, because I have taken them to be my soul family.

_I wonder if, perhaps, he meant sole family, or if, in some other way, he was speaking of the way family is not always what you think it is, and that I must, indeed, have my soul family as well. You, and Miss Potts and Jarvis, to make a home where there was previously none._

_On the more specific case of the castle, I have only to say, my dear Colonel Rhodes, it sounds a lot more impressive than it was. Of course, having been in a state of crumbling dismay for several hundred years, I probably wouldn’t look much better._

_Probably_

_\--TS_

 

Of course it was raining.

Pouring. And cold, because cold just seemed par for the course. Tony huddled closer to the kerosene heater, holding his hands out to the pitiful flame. He was pretty sure this was why he hired a chronicaller, really. So that he could do all the cool adventure things and someone else could check their grammar and spelling. And facts. Fact checking.

Bucky and Natasha had spent the entire evening bickering about how to get into the castle, and if the secret passageway that led out to the woods about a mile away would still be open, and if it was open, would it be trapped, or just guarded.

Tony wondered what the difference was. A guard was just as likely -- more, really -- to sound the alarm than an elaborate mechanism. He’d discovered in many older tombs, those sorts of things were a lot more often set off by the mice or gusts of wind, or unexpected earthquakes, and setting the whole thing back up made for great reading, but not so much with the whole practical security applications.

“Ghost stories,” Tony said. “Those are effective. Keep the whole scuttle away from the dig by a few well-placed fairy tales, rumors of a curse, and an unexpected death or two that can be blamed on vengeful gods. Much better security than a dropping floor. I mean, once someone goes over the dropping floor, then it doesn’t drop anymore, does it. Or you have to fix the whole thing in order to chase after them. It’s really pointless, honestly. Makes for a good story, but I think I’m just a little bit past a good story, aren’t you?”

Bucky and Natasha exchanged cautious looks, as if Tony had, quite literally, lost his mind and was talking to the ghosts of whom he would prefer to place trust.

“I do not think that there will be ghosts in Hydra’s lairs,” Natasha said, slowly. “I do not believe in such things.”

“People always say that,” Tony said. “And maybe even some people believe that they don’t believe. But we all look over our shoulder when we spill the salt.”

“I look over my shoulder because sometimes, someone is there,” Bucky said. He touched his weapon, whirled, and--

No one was there, except a waft of a breeze and a gust of rain.

“Not this time, I suppose,” Tony said.

“I don’t know,” Bucky responded. He turned as if to confer with Natasha, but the red-haired spy had already vanished into the woods.

“Smart villains,” Tony said. He rubbed his hands together near the lantern again, “wouldn’t bother to try to capture us out here. They’d go back and set an ambush.”

There was a strangled scream from the woods, barely carrying to the campsite, and probably only because Natasha wanted them to.

“Not anymore, they will not,” she said, appearing with a dangle of keys in one hand. “Now they will stumble over body in the wood later. Perhaps, someone will tell ghost story. But we have key, and an end to stupid arguing.”

“Well, that was handy,” Tony said. “Guess we’re packing it in tonight?”

“Unless you wish to wait for wolf. Or ghost. To come and see about body?”

“You’re a delightful woman, Ms. Romanov,” Tony said. “I can’t wait to see how the book sales go.”

***

“I have a newfound respect for Miss Potts,” Tony muttered. It wasn’t that he minded the fighting, or that he was afraid for himself. He’d long ago lost his fear of death, at least. Living with a ticking time bomb in his chest had solved that. But keeping track of what happened during a fight, that was hard. Finding the descriptive words that adequately conveyed the pain, terror of losing his companions, the blackness and the confusion, the smell and the smoke, in such a way that the person reading could understand what had happened.

That was a job.

And a harder one, Tony was finding, than merely pointing himself in the direction of danger.

“That’s one scary lady,” Romanov commented. “I respect that.”

Coming from someone who cheerfully committed murder with a piece of barrel wire, it was hardly reassuring, Tony thought.

They worked their way in through the locked entrance, not carrying a lamp, and despite some of his previous adventures, Tony was the only one who seemed to need some sort of light to function.

Bucky removed something from one of the two cases he carried. He rubbed something together and displayed an eerie green dial, a compass or watch or something that was coated in radium paint. It didn’t cast a lot of light, but enough that when they reached a punch-code door lock, Tony was able to open the casing and figure out which wire went boom, and which wire went click. It wasn’t a lot of radium, either, which was good, because Tony wasn’t certain that the chemical makeup was all that safe, over long-term exposure. More testing would be needed, but he didn’t have time for it right now.

Big differences, Tony decided, tucking his tools away, in breaking into a modern facility and breaking into a temple to some long ago, forgotten god.

Gods were more forgiving.

“You’re useful,” Bucky said, the green light reflecting off his teeth as he flashed a quick smile. “I think I’ll keep you.”

The faintest shiver crept up Tony’s spine, like warm fingers, a comfort of another human heart in the darkness. “Not if I keep you first.”

“Are you and Barnes done staring into each other’s eyes?” Romanov asked. “Much work to do, come, you waste time.”

A soft coil of air as she passed them, on to inspect the new area opened by Tony’s clever picking of the lock.

“No,” Bucky said, and Tony wasn’t sure what the man was denying, until there was a hand splayed wide over Tony’s chest and he was pushed against the wall. “I don’t think it’s at all wasted time. The waste would be not to speak, so close to our goal.”

Tony opened his mouth, probably to ask something utterly stupid, like what Bucky was talking about because there wasn’t any missing the way Bucky’s eyes practically glowed in the dark, the softness on his expression.

 _Here it comes_ , Tony thought, wildly. The declaration right before the betrayal. The kiss before the poison, the rose before the thorn. There was a part of him that wanted to shove Bucky away before it got that far, before anything that was said that couldn’t be taken back, that would be a lie, because repulsor in his chest or not, there were only so many times a man could have his heart broken before there was nothing left. “Don’t, don’t,” Tony begged, and he wasn’t sure if he was asking for it not to be said, or to deny the inevitable betrayal.

But there was no stopping it, and like two magnets held too close together, Bucky and Tony crashed together. Bucky’s mouth was ravenous, sweet and supple, his lips and tongue moving in all the ways that would make Tony crazy. His hands were everywhere, on Tony’s shoulders, cupping the back of his neck, stroking down his spine, until they came to rest on his hips, and Tony pushed against that heat, that surety, wanting everything.

“I swear to Christ,” Tony snarled in Bucky’s ear, “if you’re gonna shoot me, get it over with. The suspense is killing me.”

“If I shot you,” Bucky said, sticking his tongue in Tony’s ear spitefully, which tickled and itched and made Tony want to melt into the floor all at the same time, “you wouldn’t need the suspense to do the job.”

“Jackass,” Tony muttered, rubbing at his ear.

Bucky linked their fingers together and led Tony deeper into the darkness, hopefully toward the machine that could save both Tony, and Bucky’s friend.

So, naturally, they were holding hands when the trap sprung.


	5. Chapter 5

_To be quite honest, I have discovered that the biographer’s life is not one for me, because when involved in the thick of violence, I have more than a little bit of trouble remembering what happened to who, and in what order. A fact that makes me believe some of my previous adventures have been exaggerated or made up from whole cloth, because really? Fighting is very chaotic and even someone as sensible as I am, cannot make heads or tails of it until the end and the bad guys are down._

_And I am not._

_\--TS_

 

There was hardly a moment to think before Bucky shoved Tony into a nearby room and slammed the door behind him. It wasn’t black or unlit, either. In fact, two scientists were staring at him in shock, and before Tony could react, the woman -- her hair in ugly buns on the side of her head -- shrieked something in German.

Tony thought it might have been a cry for help, or for alertness. The other was running across the room full tilt, lab jacket flapping, his leather shoes skating across the tiles, headed for--

Tony didn’t have time to think; he raised the gauntlet in one hand -- the rest of the Iron Man armor, not being well equipped for stealth, was packed in the case that Bucky had shoved in the room after him -- and shot the man. The repulsor in the hand piece made a soft, apologetic whine and the man went down under the concussion blast.

There wasn’t time to get into the armor, and without the power from Tony’s own Repulsor in his chest, the suit didn’t have enough backup for more than one shot.

The woman was still screaming. Tony grabbed a beaker of -- god, he didn’t even know -- from the table and threw it at her. Worst case scenario it was just water and she’d get wet and maybe some cuts. That was his thought.

Whatever he did, however, was worse, so much worse.

What the actual hell were they working on in that lab that a beaker should practically explode on contact, that she would go down in a cloud of greyish fumes.

“Someone really needs to work on their lab safety protocols,” Tony announced to the room.

Despite the noise in the hallway, the lab was now quiet, and perhaps even safe.

Tony crossed the room, giving the cloud plenty of space, to flip on the air filtration system. He backed away hastily as industrial fans pumped the cloud out through the waste systems. At least that, he could count on good, old fashioned German engineering.

Once the air was clear, he checked on the woman. Still breathing, and that was good. Whatever was in that beaker wasn’t lethal.

He scrambled for his case, then, and pulled on the Iron Man Armor, one piece at a time. His clockwork screwdriver was handy to get the pieces fastened, even if he did have to stop every few screws to wind it up again.

Tony had to leave a few bolts undone; he really needed Jarvis, but the old butler was back in New York, probably cursing Tony’s name even now, and it didn’t always matter if Tony was all the way buttoned up. There would be a few unarmored spots, but in the sort of close melee combat he expected, Tony was hoping they’d go unnoticed.

There was in itch in his kidney anyway, knowing that spot was open.

 _Damn it._ He jammed the autodriver into a spot between two tables and leaned, scraping his back in the process, but managing to get the last screw tightened, bridging the gap between the hip plates and the back.

Another quick twist of the autodriver and Tony disabled the lab’s alarm system. It was the best he could do without killing the scientists, and Hydra or not, Tony didn’t like indiscriminate killing. Especially scientists. They could always reform and work for the other side. God knew, enough of them did, or had their work perverted by the governments they found themselves working with.

Equal opportunity mayhem, Tony grabbed two more of those beakers on the way out the door, clumping along like some massive, heavier version of Tin Man. What Tony wouldn’t give to have the suit made from Tin. It might be useless against bullets, but the current alloy was exceptionally heavy. The gears and cranks and pulleys kept it moving, as well as power from the Repulsor, but a lot of it was just sheer muscle and will.

Tony had a lot of will.

Not quite as much muscle as he wanted.

He slammed into the hallway and the followed the litter of bodies like breadcrumbs, hoping to find Hansel and Gretel safe and sound.

Of course that wouldn’t happen.

Tony could hear fighting, not that far away. He took a deep breath, cranked up the power output from the repulsor (78% power and draining… 75% power and draining…) and _ran_.

***

Tony always liked to think that, faced with several hundred pounds of running steel, most villains would take one look at him and run screaming.

Why, why, why did that not happen as often as he thought it should? Bucky was backed into a corner, fighting three villains at once, and Tony couldn’t quite blame them for not turning their back on an obviously dangerous adversary, but the rest of them could have run away, and that would have been good.

Guess he’d have to make them.

Pulling the trigger inside the suit’s glove, Tony activated the flame thrower. He waved a quick hand over a group of them. Clothes were often surprisingly flammable.

Soon, a half dozen or more of them were on fire, running around, screaming and panicking. Only two remembered stop, drop, and roll. Which was kinda too bad for them, because Tony made sure to step on them on his way to Bucky.

He grabbed one by the back of the shirt collar and threw him over Tony’s shoulder. The man crunched into the wall and went limp on the floor.

“Need a hand, Buckaroo?” Tony asked.

Bucky made a rude gesture with the metal hand. “Not funny, but yeah, thin these guys out a bit, that’d go a fair ways to getting back in my good graces.”

“Aw, are you mad at me that I had to get dressed up for the party?” There was something weirdly relaxing about bantering with Bucky while beating the hell out of a dozen or more Hydra Agents. “Where’d itsy bitsy run off to?”

“She apparently had a pressin’ engagement, ‘cause they let her through,” Bucky responded. “Through that far door.”

They started moving in that direction; the Hydra goons did not seem inclined to let them pass unmolested, but that was okay. Between Tony’s bulletproof outer layer, and Bucky’s knives and guns, they carved their own hole.

He wished he wasn’t surprised that apparently Natasha betrayed them. It even seemed like it would be inevitable. Tony had a bad habit of trusting the wrong people, but at least if someone had to stab him in the back, it was Natasha and not Bucky. Still, it was too bad. Tony had kind of liked her. And just once, it might be nice to be wrong about human nature. Everyone always in it for themselves.

Even Tony often was -- he was only here for his father’s legacy, for the hope of extending his own worthless life.

“More fighting, less brooding,” Bucky snapped. Literally, the man he was wrestling with issued a brief scream and fell to the floor, neck broken.

“I’m making up for your enthusiasm.”

“Oh, is that the excuse?”

Tony looked around. “Besides, you’ve finished them all off.” There was still one guy, only partly on fire, but he seemed a little busy to be causing them trouble.

Tony opened the door -- a little excessively because it came off the hinges in his hand -- “after you.” Once he’d ushered Bucky in through the doorway, he very carefully leaned the door in the frame. “Oops.”

“Oops is right,” Bucky commented, backing up until he was using Tony as cover.

“Good evening,” someone said, and Tony had to swing his whole body around to get a look. The man standing there, towering, really, was at least six foot three (some people got all the height, which was decidedly unfair.). “How very nice to see you, Mr. Stark. Sergeant Barnes. I’m honored that you could join us.”

The man was wearing the ridiculous uniform of Hydra, a combination of the Nazi party colors and the brilliant red octopus on the black arm band and Tony knew he was concentrating on the uniform because there were two things about the man that made him desperately uncomfortable.

The first was that he had Natasha Romanoff tucked under his arm like a reluctant package, a gun pointed at her head, his finger on the trigger.

The second thing was that the man had no face -- instead, he had a bloody skull, eyeballs protruding awkwardly.

“Schmidt,” Bucky said.

“Wow, um… you… really ought to see a doctor about that condition,” Tony commented. “And uh, would it be rude of me to tell Romanoff that karma can be a real bitch?”

“I prefer,” Natasha said, her voice harsh and strangled, “to say all good things come to woman who waits.”

“So, like, what’s the deal here,” Tony said, “because you can keep Ginger Snaps there, she’s not one of ours, and after that, you just look a little outgunned.”

“That’s the vita-ray machine, there,” Bucky said.

“Do you have a clear shot on Schmidt?”

The man with the red skull dragged Natasha up, holding her like a lover, like he was going to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. “You do realize I can hear you?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you,” Tony snapped. “Take the shot.”

“I’ll hit Natasha,” Bucky said.

“Wasn’t talking to you, either, sweetheart,” Tony said, and Schmidt’s head popped up, already gruesome eyes bugging in shock as Natasha turned, trapped his gun between her elbow and bicep, punched him in the throat, and then shot him with her very tiny, Stark holdout pistol. For a small, delicate gun, it packed a hell of a jolt.

The holdout pistol only contained one shot, but it left a hole in Schmidt like a smoking crater.

He went down and did not get back up.

“Very nice,” Tony said.

“I’m confused as to who is on who’s side.”

“I am on nobody's side,” Natasha said, shaking out her hair, “because no one is on _my side_.”

“You might have to revise your witty one liner,” Tony said. “I think I’ve proven myself.”

“And I, Stark, have proven myself,” Natasha said. “Come, I already have blueprints, and we must go.”

Tony yanked a few sticks of explosive out of the carry-belt he’d built around the Iron Man armor -- you only needed once to not having something you needed to start carrying a purse, as he’d told Rhodey -- and packed them into the vita ray machine. Natasha was right, there was no way to carry the capsule and all the babbage machinery that was necessary to run it.

“Go, go, go, find us a plane or car or some way out of here in a hurry.”

“Are you blowing stuff up?” Bucky asked.

“I am.”

Bucky thumbed the release under the Iron Man mask, reached his hand inside to cup Tony’s head and kissed him soundly. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.”

Love? What?

Tony pushed the thought side, he didn’t have time for it now. “We are having a discussion about that,” he said, then kissed Bucky again. “Later.”

“Later.” It was a promise. 


	6. Chapter 6

_Well, look--scarcity, need, desire--ugly as these things can be, they're the building blocks of most any societal structure. With nothing to lose, there's no sacrifice. When you need for nothing, do you dream of anything? From struggle comes virtue. It's part of our nature._

_If that is true, Steve Rogers will be a paragon of virtue if he lives. I have never before seen a man who has nothing. Except Bucky._

_\--Tony Stark, notes on Project Rebirth_

 

Steve Rogers didn’t have much time left when Tony finally finished the vitaray machine, hooking it all into the custom generator. The power source took six boilers to get it going, and chances were good that it would be destroyed in the process.

“We’re only going to get one go at this,” Tony said, although he meant Steve Rogers, and not the process. He had the entire process down, and he could rebuild the generator. The one shot was Steve’s dose of the serum. If it didn’t take, the man was going to die right there in the capsule.

“If I back out now,” Steve said, calmly, “I’ll only die later rather than sooner.”

“True enough,” Tony said, because he was practical that way. His own condition gave him more time to find a cure, even if that shouldn’t be his goal anymore. _Selfish_ , he thought. _All that exists now is the mission to aid my fellow Americans, and innocents._

Across the room, from the observation deck, were many watchers, skeptics, critics, and friends of Steve’s. Bucky was there, sitting calmly next to Natasha, watching. When he noticed Tony looking at him, his eye flickered in the barest wink.

They were together now, for as much of together as there could be in a world that viewed love between men as an evil and sinful thing. By paperwork, Bucky was Tony’s bodyguard. Their friends knew the truth, and there were places where they could be seen together and no one would say anything.

Someday, the world might change, but that day was not today. Not for this. Not for them,

But Steve Rogers’ world might change.

Tony finished running the systems’ check.

“Everything on the board is green.”

“Coils at peak, levels at a hundred percent,” one of the technicians said. “We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”

“Here we go,” Tony said. The medic gave Steve a combo-injection. Sulfa drugs to fight infection, a few others to fight any allergic reaction. The tubes were filled with the serum, brilliant blue and shiny in their cluster of glass, like Bucky’s eyes, Tony thought. He waved away the romance of the situation to concentrate on the science.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Steve said.

“It gets worse,” Tony told him.

“Is it too late to go to the bathroom?”

Tony laughed. “In a few minutes; this won’t take long. Either it’ll work--”

“Or I’ll be dead. I can do it, let’s go.”

Tony nodded, closing Steve in the chamber; Tony had made improvements to his father’s design, both necessary and efficient.

Tony looked up -- if this went to hell in a handbasket, would Bucky blame Tony for the loss of his friend?

Bucky gave him a thumbs up. “Go for it,” he mouthed.

Tony went to the bank of machinery and flipped switches. Steve was sealed in the chamber, the chamber righted itself to receive the vitarays. The injector switch was flipped next, and the tubes emptied themselves into Steve’s biceps through a vast series of micro injections. Which probably hurt.

Based on Steve’s screaming, it hurt a lot. Tony winced.

He flipped some more switches; it didn’t matter if it hurt or not, there was no turning back.

“Shut it down--” someone yelled from the observation deck.

“No can do,” Tony muttered. Turned the dial to thirty, forty… fifty.

Steve’s screams were getting weaker. No time for finesse.

Tony spun the dial all the way to one hundred. There were a dozen pops and clicks, a fizz of smoke expelled from one of the pieces of machinery.

The screaming stopped.

“Steve?” Bucky leaped the rail and was down at the capsule, unlocking the clips.

When the capsule opened, mist flowed down, revealing the man underneath. A new man, but the same. Taller, stronger, obviously healthy. Bare-chested, he looked like a circus strong man.

Steve opened blue eyes. “Bucky?”

“Steve? I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you were taller,” Steve said, but in truth, it was Steve who was taller, huge, really. Tony would be jealous, if he wasn’t so impressive himself.

There was laughter, an air of celebration. The medic took some recordings, measurements, checked Steve’s heart and lungs. “Everything looks good, Mr. Stark.”

“Yes, indeed,” someone said, and how the hell--

The Red Skull ripped off the false mask he was wearing, showing himself in all his grotesque glory. He held a gun in one hand, raised a detonator in the other. “Too bad no one told you to check your workspace, before you begin an experiment like this. Tragic. A failure, just like your father.”

Steve reacted without any warning, tossing Bucky toward the back of the room and dubious protection of the machinery there.

He kicked a table at Schmidt, not even hesitating. The piece of furniture struck Schmidt face first, and Tony had time to see the explosives strapped to the bottom of it.

“Stark, get down,” Steve yelled, and then he was on top of Tony, protecting him from the fallout, the shrapnel.

The table exploded.

And all Tony could see, looking out from under Steve, was the other dose of the serum, leaking, wasted, onto the floor,

***

They were on the Stark dirigible, Bucky’s arm around Tony’s waist. “Steve was a success, maybe we can find the recipe for Erskine’s formula, rebuild it?”

Natasha was there, too. In the weeks during the investigation of Schmidt’s death, Steve’s success, the fire that had rampaged out from the lab to other areas of the city, she’d grown attached to Steve, and Steve to her. They made a pretty couple, Tony thought absently, the blonde giant and the dainty redhead. Both beautiful. Both deadly. Both loyal. Although it remained to be seen if Natasha was loyal to anyone but herself. They just had to keep being the most attractive option, Tony decided.

“I don’t know,” Tony said. “I don't have a lot of time, and I still want to do some good in this world.”

“Well, you can’t do it if you’re dead,” Bucky reasoned. “Besides, you’re the only thing keepin’ me in check.”

“That’s a lie,” Tony said, but he smiled anyway, leaning his head against Bucky’s bicep and looking out over the city far below.

“We take turns,” Natasha said. “I have mission for us, we do. Then, we do good mission, and then, we look for cure for Stark. It is good system, everyone gets something.”

“Yeah? What’s the job?”

“I have sisters,” Natasha said. “Not blood, but other women, trained, like me. Deadly, like me. The Red Room must be shut down. It is abomination, and I will not allow to continue.”

“That seems like a two for one,” Steve said. “Doing good, and your job. I’m in.”

“I can see it being beneficial,” Tony admitted.

“Where you go, I go,” Bucky told him.

The four of them, and perhaps, later, there would be more, could be a force for good in the world. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people, see if they could become something more. See if they could work together when the world needed them to to fight the battles others never could.

“I like it,” Tony said. “Let’s do it.”


End file.
